The Dragons' Song
by Wild Concerto
Summary: In Westeros, a prophecy claims that the one united to Kirstina Tyrell would be ruler of the continent. Needless to say that the King has set claim on her, but the last of the Targaryens, forced to live in shadows, is also in the race. But everything is possible when you play the Game of Thrones. Very AU, POTO meets GoTverse, though this can be read without knowledge of the series.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First of all… full blame on PeekabooFang and her rants on parallels between **_**Game of Thrones**_** and **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** on her Tumblr. This crazy plot-bunny which refused to let go of me came out of it. So, note that this isn't a crossover, for the reason that there are no characters from the GoTverse coming here. Just the characters from POTO who get… Westerosified. They'll get their houses from the GoTverse, and their first names are going to be slightly modified to fit better in the universe. Also, you will recognize some events from the series. But I try to follow the plotline of POTO here as much as I can, while adapting it to the exigencies of this story. So a mish-mash of both, so to say. **

**The story is rated T for now. I don't expect to write smut, because I never do in my stories as a matter of principles (yeah, I know). But if it gets too gory, it might get an M rating. Well, we are in freaking Westeros, after all… You'll be warned of it if it happens. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing coming from Susan Kay's **_**Phantom**_**, Andrew Lloyd Webber's **_**Phantom of the Opera**_**, George R. R. Martin's **_**Song of Ice and Fire**_** or HBO's **_**Game of Thrones**_**. Anything coming from **_**Le Fantôme de l'Opéra**_** by Gaston Leroux belongs to the public domain.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_The King was mad. _

_It was no secret for the court – he was mad since childhood, in his bloodlust that reminded people a bit too much of his dragon ascendency. Well, with his gloats claiming that he was THE Dragon, you had no choice but to admit it. _

_Dragons in old stories were said to be noble creatures, helping the innocent, giving them freedom and burning the villains in painful fire, even hotter than the fire from a forge. Now, the canon for the dragon had changed: they had been at first a way to scare children in a way of making them obey to an adult's every whim. Now, they were pretty much put on the same level as the Devil. _

_The Targaryens had come from the continent of Essos, more than three hundred years ago, mounting dragons and conquering six of Westeros' seven kingdoms, quickly rallying people to their cause by their sole charisma. There were four of them, two kings and two queens, known for their sense of justice and gentleness, but also their bravery and fierceness in battle. They had reigned, and each of them was mourned greatly when they came to pass away. _

_The brothers had married their sisters. They claimed that dragon blood ran in their veins, and in consequence, the purity of their race had to be conserved. Their blonde, almost white hair, their purple eyes, and most especially, their immunity to heat and also fire, gave not only credibility to their claim, but also an aura of supernatural that immediately gained them an almost religious respect who turned with the years and as the Targaryens' madness grew, fear. _

_The same incestuous arrangement happened for a few generations. Not very often, but still. There had been for example a case where a Targaryen princess, the youngest of eight siblings, had married a Stark and became therefore Lady of Winterfell. The characteristics, in such unions, seemed to be unfortunately unable of transmitting themselves to their progeny. Only the case mentioned above of the union between a Stark and a Targaryen saw some descendents showing House Targaryen's gifts. But again, they would only manifest themselves at every three generations. _

_In the end, all the consanguinity, instead of showing itself physically, like it happens often in such cases, showed itself in bloodlust, thus especially each time a Targaryen felt his pride insulted, it growing more and more as the generations went on. You were rather surprised of such a thing, when you would see their stainless, angelic beauty, which gave them an air of serenity which seemingly couldn't be troubled by anything. But it was nothing but a mere façade. _

_King Chaerys, third of the name, had married his sister Madelenya, despite all the non-stopping demands of the fathers of the other houses who wished to see their daughters Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The King, despite his reputation, had rather been popular among the ladies and their subjects of gossip. He was handsome, like his father and predecessors before him, of course; but it is often said in our world, in the present days, that girls have a tendency to prefer bad boys. Despite his silvery hair, there was definitely something darker about Chaerys' features. The serenity of his ancestors was gone. All that was left was a glimmer of some sort of twisted intelligence, not to say even malice; a haughty posture, though made so regal an average mortal who would have tried out such an attitude would have seemed quite laughable; and that crooked smirk… _

_Queen Madelenya Targaryen didn't really show signs of what seemed to be now House Targaryen's curse. She did, however, seem a bit too clingy on her brotherly husband and was exceptionally childish and capricious. But every single whim of hers was obeyed, and with eagerness, despite how ridiculous they could be from time to time. She had been raised as a living doll, treated like a living doll. Her pouty lips, doe-eyed purple eyes, and porcelain cheeks only emphasized that look. She was all dolled up indeed, and watched closely: if the bridles that retained the prize-winning mare called Madelenya would have been released, it would be most certain that she would try out her womanly charms on other knights, for the little pest was quite conscious of them. But as much as she was a jealous wife, the King was a jealous husband as well. _

_Then, they had come, in the same way the Targaryens had come more than three hundred years ago. _

_They were from Essos as well. But to the people of Westeros, they seemed even more exotic than the Targaryens themselves, with their dark skin, hair and eyes. The savagery of some of the men intrigued them, as they were just barely dressed. Their ruthlessness as well – for sure, the Seven Kingdoms weren't quite what you could call a perfectly policed place, but their easy relationship with sex and violence shocked more than one. _

_The Hanessari had been nomads for many years. As they travelled their world, which had been limited to the continent, they had taken some habits and techniques from other nations, personalizing them into their own. Soon, they had become one of the most feared nations in Essos for their savagery. Then, their King had married a Lady from a more civilized city, and the city became theirs: with the new Queen and the city's treasures came culture: it was only then that the Hanessari were considered as a proper nation by everyone. _

_But the arid desert which they now dominated was not enough. At least, that was Neihro's opinion. His brother was King of the Hanessari: he could have perhaps plotted to overthrow his brother, for he had been given the command of a great portion of the Hanessar army. But Neihro's childhood had been full of tales of Westeros and of the Seven Kingdoms. His nurse came from those countries, since her father had ran away to avoid the then-Targaryen king's wrath. _

_Neihro had heard them all, from the roses of the Highgardens to the sternness of the North, and of the splendors of King's Landing and most especially, the legendary Iron Throne, built by the four Targaryen kings and queens with all their war trophies. And he knew that on that sat a King who counted dragons in his ancestors, and whose madness increased as the generations passed on. _

_He left for Westeros, with his brother's blessing, his dream made realistic with the thousands of men following him and willing to die for him. He came to the oppressed people as some sort of Messiah, being the only one who would laugh at House Targaryen's so-said divinity. Their dragons weren't there anymore. The last ones had proven unable to lay any eggs, for some obscure reason they were never able to explain. But, at least, the Targaryens' reputation was made and seemingly all solid. Seemingly. It was in reality nothing more than a house of cards, and a small pinch, but a well-placed one, would prove itself to be more than enough to make it all shatter. _

_Neihro was in a sense innocent. He could not understand the so-said supernatural. As he made more and more progress, noble families joined on his side. There were indeed many great Houses in Westeros, who had each ruled a kingdom before House Targaryen came and united all seven of them to dominate them all. House Lannister was the first one, and remained Neihro's most faithful ally. Then later, slowly, with time, as they all saw that Westeros needed change, the other houses, Stark, Tully, Tyrell, Frey, Arryn, Baratheon and many others all joined as well. And the Night's Watch, who guarded the Wall far, far away in the North, seemingly neglected by everyone and welcoming all the unwelcomed ones such as the Houses' bastards, had not been forgotten and had played a great part in the Hanessari's conquest of the Seven Kingdoms. _

_There were only a handful of noblemen who remained at the Targaryens' side. They were forced eventually to flee, despite Chaerys' frantic argument and later furious ire that he was the Dragon and that he was to transform into one when Neihro's army would come to vanquish them all. But for once, Madelenya, who usually always obeyed her brother-husband's every whim, had decided to follow the counsel of their advisers. _

_After all, she was now expecting a child. _

_And Chaerys and Madelenya being the last remaining of House Targaryen, the child was their only chance. _

_Lanya had said that he would be the One who would save House Targaryen from annihilation. Lanya was their prophetess: and everyone in all the Seven Kingdoms knew about her very special links with the Gods and the fact that she was given the privilege of seeing glimpses of the future. _

_The Targaryens and their remaining allies were now roving: not knowing where to go, for they had pretty much no place to go, actually. The Hanessari were tracking them down mercilessly. Neihro knew that the only way of annihilating them definitely was to kill them all, to show the people in Westeros that they had nothing to do with gods. _

_It had finally happened – the Targaryens, thankfully for them, managed to escape, but carrying with them a severely wounded Chaerys who seemed on the bridge to death. A witch accompanying them proposed to use black magic to help the King survive and heal, thus by using some of the baby growing in Madelenya's body's vitality, assuring them there would be absolutely no negative consequences on him or her. The Queen accepted, for she was unsure that her allies would still stay with them with only her and a frail baby who hadn't even peeked into the world and his cruelties yet, may he be the One or not. _

_But the King was too far away on the river leading to the other side to be saved. And so Chaerys III Targaryen died, only a month before his son would come into the world. The sorcerers had attempted a bit too much to revive him, taking so much energy from the soon-to-be-born child it came to the point it was dangerous for the latter's life. _

_Everyone was therefore afraid the child would be born with some weakness. But he was the One, after all. That was what Madelenya was tirelessly repeating to herself as time went by and that her allies' patience seemed to get thin. _

_The Queen, a month after her husband and King's death, gave birth to a boy. _

_But the black magic that had been attempted to use on Chaerys, the consanguinity, and… even the dragon ascendency, to judge with what had just happened, seemed to have literally rubbed off on the heir given to House Targaryen. _

_The child was born grossly deformed – no, deformed wasn't appropriate for the monster beautiful Madelenya had given birth to. _

_On his back and his arms his very white skin turned into scales at places, and tiny dragon wings could be seen. His finger nails seemed more like claws, emphasizing his already bony hands for a baby. His hair was black – which was rather surprising, since all Targaryens' hair was white. He already had all his dentition, but his canines were slightly longer than usual, almost looking like fangs. And finally, half of his face seemed to be in decay: the skin seemed to peel off, revealing at those places a pudgy pinkish grey _thing _reminding a bit too much of a brain. _

_Madelenya had screamed in hysterics at the sight of her child, claiming that it wasn't hers or Chaerys'… but it was. His father's traits were already recognizable on the more human parts of his face, and the resemblance would become even more striking as he would grow up. _

_And for Madelenya, it was the end. _

_Those who were formely House Targaryen's allies, despite the prophecy, knew it would be only a fool who would now support such a monster as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Madelenya and her child were betrayed, and it didn't take long before they were the Neihro's prisoners. _

_Madelenya was quickly executed. She wasn't of much use anymore, anyway. The poor thing had become insane, unable of speaking coherently and laughing mad at times. For the child, however, his destiny was to be different. _

_Such a monster was to be killed, of course. He was to all the true face of House Targaryen finally revealed, and his death would not only signify their end, but also, all the hatred the people had slowly and quietly gathered for them would be multiplied and satisfied, therefore assuring Neihro's popularity. _

_But Neihro had just married a girl among his people. Ayura was the new Queen's name. And under her demure, sweet outer shell and her flawless beauty, hid a calculating, intelligent, devious woman who had a very strong tendency to sadism but who knew how to hide it. _

_She had seen the half-dragon, half-human child; and from the very first day, he had fascinated her. _

_It didn't take much for her to convince her husband and King to spare the Targaryen monster's life. A few waterfalls of tears, begging, begging, kneeling, putting her maternal instincts in front… Neihro was touched, though hesitant. She then decided to reveal a bit of her plans for the child in the future. _

_He would be a puppet, nothing more than an enslaved puppet, definitely humiliated. _

_What is worse than death, anyway? _

_The King accepted, leaving the child's fate all to Ayura. _

_But he was, after all, still a baby with certain needs. No nurse agreed to take care of him: no one, except a stout woman among the city who accepted to take care of the child until he would reach his second year. She didn't seem to be intimidated or scared of anything. She even claimed to have seen much worse than the Targaryen monster. _

_After all, she did come from beyond the Wall… _

_It was only two weeks after she had begun that she realized that the child had been given no name. _

_She decided to call him Erik. _

_In her native language, Erik meant "eternal ruler"…_

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><p><strong>AN: I know this part was very narrative… but this was the prologue to explain all the stuff that happened in the past. The real story with dialogue and all will start next chapter, I promise!**

**Reviews, por favor? **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Quick note to say that I am so ever sorry for the long wait, but my life has been just totally hectic. And thank you all for your kind reviews! Six! Sheesh! And I squealed even more when I saw that there were 10 followers… So thanks to all of you who are favoriting/following/reviewing this story! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Anya Redwyne wasn't quite what you would call a beauty.

Despite the Targaryens having been deposed since almost sixteen years ago, the canon for a maiden's good looks still hadn't totally changed yet. Dark, brunette beauties were more and more appreciated by houses for marrying their sons. Of course, it was before all money, power and the armies that counted at first: but a beautiful wife to reign as lady aside her lord was a promise of a fructuous marriage providing many children and most especially, an heir who would when his time would come provide more descendants to his house.

The older generation, which had witnessed the Targaryen days, their fall and the installment of their new king, was still in power at the head of their respective Houses and hadn't quite changed their mind for their idea of what was a beauty and what wasn't. Their canon was very similar to the Targaryen's appearance: pale skin, fair hair, blue eyes. It was different for the younger generation: in their subconscious, in order to please their King by any stratagem possible, as insignificant as it could seem, they declared that the real beauty resided in dark eyes and raven hair, in some sort of attempt of honoring Queen Ayura's beauty, still remarkable after sixteen years of marriage, two sons and a daughter.

Anya Redwyne was rather pale-skinned, in an almost sickly way. She didn't enjoy the great outdoors much, but it was wrong to say that she would pass her time doing embroidery or sewing. Such activities bored her to death, and there were more than enough women surrounding her to take care of all this without her participation to be absolutely necessary. She was much more interesting in reading and in studying. It was a rather uncommon thing among women, and her mother had disapproved when she had seen her taking such an inclination. Her father, to such a defense, had shrugged; but being not very present, he did not have the opportunity of giving his daughter the education she would have wished to have. And therefore, Anya's intellectual education had been rather limited, though it was after all a bit better than some girls in the nobility.

She had black hair, not very thick, and therefore not quite made for the elaborate hair dress the ladies would display at court. Her traits possessed no ingenuity or sweetness of any kind, but rather a certain sternness despite her young age of nineteen, this emphasized by the almost emaciated shape of her face. But a cleverer and more attentive observer would have interpreted her severity rather as some sort of stoic wisdom, which aged her beyond her years.

Lady Redwyne, in front of such disinterest for what girls usually liked, turning them into perfect puppets in the hands of their mothers and their governesses, would cry in despair. Of course, in her mind only. Displaying it would be simply indecent. In the middle of the harsh world dominated by men and physical power, she believed women to have the duty to provide the serenity needed in this world. Her hopes resided, of course, in her younger daughter, Clyra, as pretty, delicate, docile and fair-haired as she could ever wish for, who had recently married Ser Gustav Tyrell.

And if course, when the youngest daughter married and the eldest remained single, the latter was seemingly doomed to remain an old maiden.

Lady Redwyne, seeing Anya in her youth rather befriending boys than girls, had hoped for a while that it would somehow ease her soon-to-come wedding. But the comradery Anya displayed with other boys was simply dreadful, and soon, she forbid her daughter from this sort of contact with them – she was wedding material, not a partner for silly games. And she hoped that now that she was separated from them, Anya would seem more distant and somehow more… desirable.

But her dearest husband didn't seem to be planning some sort of decent installment for his eldest daughter, like a good father should, especially when said father is Lord of his House…

It was only just recently that Ser Jorah Stark, the second son of Lord Stark, came back from fighting the few rebellions that were bursting from time to time in southern cities ("That scum down there are so lazy and never content of what they have, by the gods!" the noblemen from King's Landing would say disdainfully) and met with Anya again. They had known each other from childhood: Jorah had been among those boys who, at a certain age, would always claim that girls were no good. But Anya was an exception. Even, Jorah was ready to claim that she wasn't _really_ a girl. Like his mother and his nurse weren't _really_ girls either.

He came back, and like in every romance of this type, he saw that Anya was now all grown up. Where others found her having little beauty, he found her rather striking in her own way and different from all the other foolish maidens (Well, to be honest, either they really were foolish, either they were little vipers hiding their game a bit too well.).

It didn't take him long to ask his elder brother, Nadir Stark, recently Lord of Winterfell since their father's recent death, to ask for him Anya Redwyne in marriage. And Lord Redwyne, more than happy that someone really worthy of his daughter was willing to share his life with her, accepted, much to his Lady's relief.

Lord Redwyne's esteem was well-placed. Ser Jorah Stark was known among the Lords close to the King for his work in matters that required not only excellent fighting skills, but also more… discretion, so to say. He was in charge, in the rebellions that would sometimes shake the southern parts of the Seven Kingdoms, to track down their secret leaders. After all, when the leaders were caught, the whole rebellion was to fall like a house of cards.

But from his experience, though he would never say it out loud, he had somehow been shook in his beliefs instilled into him since childhood. Of course, King Neihro had always been presented as the hero. Of course, he was now the symbol of stability, peace and wealth. But now, as he had even penetrated to the core of King's Landing and its gears… he knew a lot of its secrets. And afterwards, his vision of the world would never be the same.

He had seen the misery in which they were plunged. And some measures taken for the people were even cruel. The Lords, in the privileged context of King's Landing, or in their castles, were unaware of it. But it was present.

Jorah was deep inside a good man. He wept in the depths of his mind those fathers he was forced to arrest and even kill for their disobedience, while all they wanted was a better life for their wives, children and sometimes even grandchildren.

His work disgusted him, now.

But thankfully, it was soon to change.

The wedding was at King's Landing, Lord Nadir Stark residing there as he was the Hand of the King. But since he wasn't present to govern Winterfell anymore and that he remained unmarried, it was to Jorah to take charge. And now, since he had been away for a while before discovering about his father's death and that his marriage had also taken a lot of his time, Winterfell and the North were calling him urgently. Needless to say that it was more than a relief for him.

And so he was about to leave, with his new bride, before being summoned by the King.

He wouldn't let him go, he thought. It was like a vicious circle.

"There is a secret rebellion movement forming itself quite conveniently for you in the North," the King had said. "You having experience in the matter, you shall be well-placed."

Jorah had bowed, as he usually did when the King would give him such orders. But his heart broke from the inside. He was now to fight against his own people. But quickly, he made up his mind. He was Lord of Winterfell, after all, and he could certainly take some measures so…

"However," the King continued, "you shall not be alone." Jorah was just about to speak, as politely and submissively as he could, about how he preferred working solo in such matters, especially with all his planning about countering the usual method though it would give technically the same result of peace, but already, Neihro was continuing. "You are the Lord of Winterfell, and therefore, it will be difficult for you to be discreet at all times. Thankfully, I have someone who has showed what he was capable of."

Jorah lifted up a brow, half-surprised about that "someone", half-wondering if the King was reading in his mind. Neihro smiled.

"You know Madelenya Targaryen gave birth to a child just before going insane and dying?"

"Yes, Your Majesty…" Jorah replied. "A dragon monster who was already dead when he came out."

"Well, not many people are aware of it yet, but he has survived."

Ser Stark's eyes widened, while his face paled. And he who believed he knew about everything. Something stung his heart, adding itself to the harsh reality he had faced in the last months about the Seven Kingdoms and their people.

"You understand that such a thing had to be kept secret, of course. My wife had pleaded so much for the beast's life I couldn't say no."

"So… it is really a beast, then?" Jorah asked tentatively.

"You'll see for yourself."

It was only then that Jorah realized the situation in its entirety.

"So… THIS IS GOING TO BE MY HELP?" The King's glare was what made him realized that he had shouted.

"Of course," Neihro replied, having decided to be patient today, since his command was, he acknowledged it, rather unorthodox. "It is the Queen who took care of his education and raised him to be a Court Assassin."

Jorah felt like he was becoming dizzy. A Court Assassin. Of course. Next thing that was to happen was that all of them would be slaughtered by a beast eager of avenging his House.

And of course, Queen Ayura was behind all this.

But he shoved away any negative thought he might have about the Queen, fearing the King might be perceptive.

For it was one long rant about her…

"He is entirely devoted to us. He knows he owes us his life. And he has taken care of many delicate matters."

Jorah nodded absentmindedly. All of this was madness. Pure madness. And he had to use all his inner strength not to shout and curse the gods.

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><p>Jorah Stark followed the guard to the undergrounds of King's Landing, before they entered a passageway the Lord of Winterfell did not remember its existence, despite his rather good knowledge of the tunnels. Well, he used to think it was rather good, before.<p>

They arrived in front of a heavy-looking iron door. The guard knocked, and the loud banging echoed through the tunnels in an almost infernal way.

"No need to make all that bloody racket. I was waiting for you."

Jorah shivered while hearing the voice.

It was unlike any voice he had ever heard. Even Anya's deep contralto voice did not attain such beauty. He shoved away that thought, feeling quite oddly guilty of betraying his wife.

It was melodious, its tone manly though somehow juvenile. It would curl around him like a snake trying to charm him and had a somehow commanding propriety, the kind that would make you kneel and submit to its every will if you were less spirited. It at first reminded you of the voice of the gods as they were described in old tales told to children. But if you paid closer attention, the darkness, splendid yet somehow daunting, unfurled itself in all its splendor.

All this in three sentences, Jorah would think with an inner humorless chuckle.

A dark shadow formed itself at the light of the torches, until a silhouette finally appeared.

Both the silhouette and the shadow had wings.

Dragon wings, actually.

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><p><strong>AN: Short chapter, I know. I expected it to be a lot longer, but there was such a nice cliffhanger here I just had to cut it here. Mwahahahaha. **

**Can you guys recognize some characters from POTO? There's a bunch of them! **

**Answers to guest reviews: **

**Guest: **Thank you for your encouragement! It's really appreciated and I do hope you will enjoy this story. ;)

**grandma paula: **Dear grandma paula… I really want you to know that when I received your review, you literally made my day. Thanks for taking time to leave a little review, thanks for saying it's well written, thanks for saying that it's great… I mean, a billion thanks! OMG! XD I really hope to hear more of you and that I will not disappoint!

**Brittany: **Thank you! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the late posting… I've got caught in holiday madness as well as other writing that needed to be updated as well… I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Still totally taken aback by all the feedback I'm receiving for this story… So thanks again to all you people who are reading/favoriting/following/reviewing, you have no idea how much it means the world to me. **

**And big shout out thanks to Stirack for really helping out for this chapter! **

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

A pair of golden eyes, shining in the dark as if they belonged to a cat, were staring at Jorah and the guard intently. Ser Stark glanced quickly at his companion, who was trembling like a damsel and looking as if he was going to faint at any moment. With a sigh, Jorah quickly concluded that if the… thing was dangerous, he would be all alone to confront him.

The silhouette finally slipped out of the dark, revealing a man clad in black from head to toe. Ser Stark turned his gaze away with some difficulty from the dragon wings, which seemed big enough to permit the Targaryen monster to fly, to focus on the man who had just presented himself to his eyes.

Well, perhaps man was not the appropriate term for him. He still seemed very young, probably between sixteen and twenty years old. That's what Jorah was able to tell, despite the dragon man was wearing on the left side of his face, by its whiteness the only item he wore that wasn't black. But in his eyes and the twist in his mouth, he could see that the man-child had internally aged beyond his years. For sure, at the age of sixteen, boys did have a certain experience in many matters… but it seemed to be a whole other thing when it came to… him.

What was his name, anyway? Had anyone even conceded to give a name to the last of House Targaryen?

Jorah could see he was undeniably one. He was still very young when the Targaryens had been deposed, but he could remember what King Chaerys had looked like. The boy here was indubitably his son: he lacked the purple eyes and the silvery-white blonde hair, with his golden gaze and his black hair carefully slicked back, but the morphology of what was visible of his face clearly showed his parentage. And there was most certainly no doubt that it was indeed Queen Madelenya that had given birth to him.

The dragon wings certainly weren't the only strange thing about him, Jorah thought. His body all trapped from head to toe in black and more especially the mask clearly showed that there was something else, certainly. His gloved hands, for instance, were intriguing… the fingers seemed unnaturally long and…

A cough coming from the dragon-man brought Jorah back to reality. As he met his gaze, he suddenly felt uneasy. Certainly, the young man had noticed the study Jorah was making of him and didn't appreciate it at all. Ser Stark chuckled and laughed at himself. He had seen many things in his experiences, and wasn't impressed by much anymore. But the stare of the last of the Targaryens was one that would burn the soul to its core if he wished to.

It didn't take long, however, before Jorah was forced to lower his eyes; he was unable to stand straight to the Targaryen monster any longer. And of course, he didn't see the satisfied smirk the latter jeered as he won the silent battle.

"You can leave," he finally told the guard accompanying Jorah. "It's between me and him, now."

Jorah retained himself from glancing pleadingly to the guard, not at all interested in being all alone with _him_. But the coward, already, as if he had forgotten that he had no orders to receive from the Targaryen monster, used the opportunity to flee away.

Ser Stark restrained himself from gulping, attempting to stay as stoic as possible. A mere sign of weakness could as well be a signal of vulnerability, perhaps even leading to his death.

"Care to come in?" the young Targaryen finally said, heading towards the door of what Jorah supposed was his home. "Don't worry," he continued mockingly. "I'm not going to kill you. I don't see why I would do such a thing, anyway."

Still uneasy, Ser Stark followed him inside, only to be surprised to see a place relatively well-lit by candles and torches spread in an almost artistic manner everywhere, The room he had entered was also shockingly well-furnished – even luxurious. His companion even gestured for him to sit on a bunch of cushions bunched on the stone floor, which was disappearing under layers of carpets. Jorah refused, preferring to stand straight in the presence of such a host.

"You must know of course why I came here to you," Ser Stark finally said.

"Yes. Many happenings in the North. I used to take care of little matters here in King's Landing. And make some suspects confess."

Jorah was of course aware of some methods used on defendants to admit that they were at the center of some plot; and, with time, he had grown used to the thought that such methods were necessary. But now, with the strange dragon-man in front of him, he could only be horrified by the imagines his mind conjured up of the people caught in the monster's clutches. The image of a child playing with ants came to his mind.

"You're the King's Hand's brother, aren't you?"

"Yes… why?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering."

"You know him?"

"One of the rare people aware of my existence. You, him, the King and the Queen. And for now, it has to remain that way."

"For now? You know what will happen if the people in Westeros discover that you exist… don't you?" Jorah chuckled.

A loud, utterly humorless laugh made itself heard. No, it wasn't quite a laugh. There was something in it that reminded Jorah of a wolf howling madly in the night, so inhuman he almost brought his hands to his ears to block out the sound.

"Oh, you think I'll bear to hide here in the undergrounds forever like some rat? No. They'll all know my name, one of these days. And the King and the bitch he calls his Queen will be the first ones to crawl at my feet."

"Do you even know who you are?" Jorah snapped, trying to ignore the insult he had made to Queen Ayura. He couldn't believe it… of course, he had to have been risen in total ignorance of his origins… he had to be convinced he was a slave, and nothing more… he had to…

"Of course I know who I am. They may have given me the name of Erik, probably a name that some wildling from across the Wall would have had, but I know I'm a Targaryen."

"And why are you telling me all this?" Jorah chuckled. "I could have you accused of treason and executed within days."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"And why's that?"

"I've learned just as well as you how to disguise a murder to make it look like a mere accident. I know many things – why would the King have assigned me with you, of all people?"

"You do sound like some silly child playing with ants, you know," Jorah scoffed. "You think everyone will cheer you as the messiah?" He retained himself from pointing out the dragon wings, and everything hiding underneath his black and white cover which excited his imagination in too much of a gruesome manner. "Believe me, while you spent your life in the undergrounds, I've seen the Seven Kingdoms. I know what the people want."

The Targaryen monster chuckled.

"I believed you more experienced than that, Ser Stark. Don't you understand the game? It's a game of thrones, nothing more. And I just take back what is mine, with fire and blood, like my ancestors did."

"And who, pray me, gave you all these ideas of grandeur?" Jorah laughed sarcastically, though it was all in a final attempt to vanquish the man-dragon in this verbal confrontation.

"Who? Your brother, of course. Ask him."

* * *

><p>"Tell me what the bloody hell you did with him."<p>

Nadir glared stoically at his impetuous little brother, to finally sigh with sorrow.

"I thought telling him would make him somehow more… human," he finally replied.

"WHAT?" Jorah cried.

"Please, listen to me. You know what Maester Edwin used to tell us when we were kids about history?"

Jorah simply lifted his brows with a sort of calm exasperation.

"If we know about our past, we will not repeat the same mistakes."

"And?"

"I did everything I could, Jorah. I taught him of the old principles and morals of chivalry, I mentioned some of his ancestors… But it seemed like the Queen was always there to destroy my handiwork," Nadir ended with a humorless chuckle.

"Did she know that…"

"No! Of course not. I probably wouldn't be alive if anyone learned I actually taught Erik about his origins."

"So his name is Erik, then? Never heard such a name before."

"I know. The woman who got assigned as his nurse named him this way. Apparently, it means "Eternal Ruler" in the language of the Wildlings. Ironical, isn't it? But I don't know what's going on in the Queen's mind. On one side, she's leading her son the heir prince to fall entirely in his influence. The child was never really strong… he's there constantly whining about whatever the hells comes to his mind and that quite unfortunately isn't going as he wants it to be. And on the other side… I don't know what sick obsession she has with Erik. She insisted on him becoming a Court Assassin, and having him under her exclusive commands. Not that the King wanted him, anyway."

Nadir gulped uncomfortably before continuing.

"And whenever some suspect is brought to torture – and Erik is the one doing it – she's always there. And… it's like she's finding some sort of sick pleasure in it."

It was useless, of course, to ask what he precisely meant by "pleasure".

After a moment in silence, to give time for Jorah to swallow everything he had told him, Nadir continued.

"She keeps on again and again brainwashing him with the idea that the whole world has rejected him and still does. And of course, she's also telling him that he owes everything to her. The last point, however, doesn't seem to make its way into his mind, thanks to what I have told him," Nadir chuckled bitterly.

"And now… what is the result of all this?"

The King's Hand had a sad smile. "Sometimes, I cannot help but pity him. He has never known love of any kind. He's been caught in madness greater than his own, for he is certainly mad as his father and many others of his ancestors were. Who knows if he has any idea how to love, either… how could he, anyway? Is there anything left of the human spirit within him?"

Silence installed itself again. Nadir's gaze seemed to drift far away.

"And sometimes… I feel as if I have actually failed him."

"But," Lord Stark continued, "what can we do against the one who will rule the Seven Kingdoms once the King is gone?"

"Nadir, the heir prince is still very young, and his so-said malleability will…"

"Fade as he grows up? Of course it won't! His mother raises him with the foolish belief that he is the master and commander, but it's a façade. Exactly like what she does with Erik. She promised him power."

"What?"

It was too much for Jorah to bare.

"Give HIM power, of all people? The people will…"

"The people will obey. And he'll just be the whip that the Queen uses to make them all submit to her will. But believe me, it's an illusion, as everything else in his life has been… and is still. He's a freak put on display, and nothing more. He can imagine when he's all alone in the undergrounds, where he's the willing prisoner, that he is King. He has all the accessories required for that. I don't know where he got all that luxurious furniture, and I don't want to know, either. But he realizes just how empty everything is, without a Court. And the dragon within him growls, waiting for the moment to roar and burn."

For a moment, Jorah lowered his head, unable to retain a hint of pity for the last of House Targaryen. But still… while all his horrors were explained, it did not, however, excuse them. And Jorah had to wonder if Nadir had really told him everything.

And he was to spend the next few weeks, why, even possibly months with the creature!

"So _that _is what is going to accompany me?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I don't want him anywhere near Anya," Jorah snarled. His tight jaw, his shoulders and back raised like a bristling cat, his frowned brows and ferocious glare almost made Nadir laugh.

"By the Gods, Jorah, a little more and I'd believe you're House Stark's Direwolf! No, don't worry for Anya. Erik won't be the least interested in her. And anyway… it's not like she has a tendency to be a damsel in distress in any situation."

"Thank the Gods Anya didn't hear you, Nadir…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Reviews always make me feel happy and special. I know I'm being immature, but hey. ;P **

**Answers to guest reviews: **

**grandma paula: **Hmm, now that you're talking about it, I might just go and re-read the prologue again just to make sure everything is clear enough, and perhaps re-work on it a bit. Thanks for saying it! So yeah, a lot of main folks coming in, but still a lot to come ;) And it's true Erik *is* a bit of a dragon: probably that's why I'm putting him in the role of the Targaryen outcast mixed up with snippets of Littlefinger and Ser Jorah Mormont from the original GoT series!

My other stories… I have two POTO ones currently on hiatus, but I have an Erik/OC one in progress called _Let It Go_, which I started when _Frozen _was the big thing. Today, I have to admit it's so overused, but I think my E/OC phic is decent enough and that my OC is well built and developed, compared to all those rushed Mary-Sue-ish ones… Basically, my OC does have snippets of Elsa, in the sense that she is forced to hide her true desires because of society, but I also inserted snippets of Eowyn's coldness and bitterness from _The Lord of the Rings _(well, book!Eowyn. Not movie!Eowyn. They are two different girls.) Aaaand… since I'm awful, my OC is… Raoul's big sis.

Besides that, I also have two one-shots which are Meg Giry-centered: _A Winged Defender in Ballet Slippers _and _Now and Later_. The first one evolves with the concept that I believe Meg to be the true angel in the POTO story, since I believe her to be really some guardian angel to Christine. I developed it here, but she's also this eventually to Raoul and Erik. The second is one I wrote for Christmas 2014: basically, you have little Meg Giry determined to give Erik a merry Christmas despite him wanting to know nothing of it. And it takes place after the events of POTO.

The two of them show an Erik/Meg friendship, and I left it to the reader's interpretation that you can see it as a solid, selfless friendship, which Erik never really had in his life and which he desperately need, or you could see it as a soon-to-be romance. It's as you wish, really. ;)

So thanks again for the review! You have no idea how much they warm my heart. ;)


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